


The Waiting Room

by Caledonia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caledonia/pseuds/Caledonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur breaks his arm playing football and shenanigans follow. There is a moment of implied consent followed by a wee tiny bit of angst. This is just a one off I'm posting to get it out of my head! Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waiting Room

Arthur sits in the waiting room, bored beyond distraction. His arm is absolute agony. The A&E doctor had told him it would get a lot worse, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. The waiting room is packed. There are people with plasters on hands and legs and all sorts. One little boy, whose arm is hopefully mostly healed, is banging his plaster against the arm of his chair over and over while  the man he's with sends a text message. 

It could be the painkillers talking, but Arthur thinks that is hilarious.

Just when he's about to prise himself out of the chair and ask what could possibly be taking this long, his attention is grabbed by a tall, thin, well dressed man walking hurriedly down the corridor. Before Arthur really has a chance to admire the man's dark hair, lithe walk, or delicious cheekbones, he's disappeared around a corner. Arthur thinks, wildly, of following him, then remembers his broken arm. The man had looked like a Consultant, though. Consultant of what, Arthur wonders. What did Arthur have to have wrong with him to be examined by  _ that _ !

Before too long someone comes out to lead him into the consultation room. They help him up onto the table, Arthur trying hard not to show exactly how much pain he's in.

"Mr Emrys won't be long." The guy says as he's shutting the door behind him. Arthur rests his head back on the inclined table, letting the pain wash over him. 

"Football or Rugby?" A voice asks. Arthur tears his eyes open. Had he fallen asleep? These painkillers really were strong.

"Sorry?" Arthur asks, coming to. As his eyes adjust he sees his consultant, Mr Emrys, bringing a wheeled stool closer to the table where Arthur is lying. "You're him." Arthur says, suddenly colouring.

"Pardon?" Mr Emrys, asks, his eyebrows raised.

Arthur shakes his head to clear it. This was the same man he'd admired from the waiting room. And he is even more attractive up close. He’s got a few days’ growth of beard and it’s incredibly sexy. Arthur suddenly feels very glad he's broken his arm.

"Nothing." Arthur says, smiling, "Football. I was playing football."

"And were you playing well?" Mr Emrys asks.

"Apparently not." Arthur admits. The man laughs and his blue eyes light up. Yes, Arthur is  _ very _ glad he's broken his arm.

"Right, well, I'm Mr Emrys. Orthopaedic surgeon, blah blah blah. Seeing as how you're looking so miserable, you can call me Merlin. Yes it’s my real name - if you laugh I’ll break your other arm.” 

Arthur looks startled, but Merlin, Mr Emrys, his  _ orthopaedic surgeon _ , seems to only be joking, judging by the mega-watt smile he’s flashing in Arthur’s direction from the light box across the room.

“According to your post-op x-rays we’ve set the bone very well. I’m going to take off these temporary dressings and adjust the pins slightly, though.” Merlin returns to the wheeled stool and scoots across the room on it towards where Arthur is sitting. The action is well-practiced, effortless, and breathtakingly sexy. “I’m not going to lie to you, Arthur, the whole procedure is not going to be fun for you. In fact, you’ll probably want to punch me in the face. If you succumb to that desire, try to avoid my mouth. I'm having chips for my tea and a split lip and vinegar do not mix. After that, I'll get a more permanent plaster on and we'll send you for another x-ray. Got it?"

Arthur only nods. He’s caught between being terrified of the upcoming procedure and completely turned on by the man peforming it. When Merlin begins unwrapping the dressings, however, and Arthur catches sight of his thin, dexterous hands, he decides that turned on is definitely the winning feeling of the afternoon.

“Tell me about the match, then. Did your team win, at least?” Merlin says in an obvious attempt to distract Arthur.

“No. Really no.” Arthur says, biting pack the pain. “It was a charity match. My father’s company sponsors Albion United Football Club and the company played against them for charity.”

“Oh, so you’re one of  _ those _ Pendragons.” Merlin laughs. He’s withdrawn what looks like a medieval torture device and is attaching it to one of the screws in Arthur's hand. Arthur has to look away. 

“Anyway. I don’t really know how my arm got broken but I’m pretty sure my mate Percy was involved. He’s a massive bloke, about twelve feet tall, and he fell and there was screaming and here I am.”

Merlin laughs. “I’d have liked to have seen that.”

“Yeah, well, as long as you don’t fuck up my hand, I’ll invite you to the next match.” Arthur says, deadly serious.

“I’ll do my best, then.” Merlin says, concentrating as he turns one of the screws. A searing, ripping pain screams up Arthur’s arm. He does want to punch Merlin in the face but instead he reaches out and grabs a hold of Merlin’s blue jumper, pulling him in close. Merlin, for his part, just lets himself get pulled along.

After the black dots fade from Arthur’s vision he realises he’s holding his Consultant very close indeed. Close enough to go in for a kiss.

So Arthur does. 

There is no tenderness in the kiss, just incredible heat and urgency. After a split second of shock, Arthur feels Merlin’s mouth responding and opening beneath his lips, kissing Arthur back.

After they break apart, Merlin backs up, tucks his tie back underneath his jumper and straightens his shirt collar. Then he sits on his wheeled chair and turns back to the torture device, gently removing it from Arthur’s hand.

“Better than a punch. Definitely better than a punch. Although, I did tell you to avoid my mouth, so theres room for improvement.” Merlin says. Arthur can’t bring himself to say anything. He can’t believe what he’s just done. Merlin turns to him, smiling, and he lowers a wink towards a startled Arthur as he attaches the hated contraption to a second screw in Arthur’s hand. “The good news for me is there’s three more.” 

*

By the time his next appointment rolls around Arthur has himself convinced that the whole fiasco had been nothing more than a drug-fuelled fantasy.

He should have just taken his father’s advice - none of this would have happened if he’d gone to a private hosiptal and refused to “muddle in with the peasants” (and, yes, that is what his father had actually said), but Arthur had needed emergecy care so here he was. If he had gone private he’d probably now be seated in a comfortable wingbacked chair waiting to see a doddery old man with a bulging belly and a vague smell of fruit pastilles about him. He certainly would not be sitting in an overcrowded state hospital waiting room panicking over what on Earth one said to gorgeous surgeons after putting both of your careers at risk over a few frustrating, frantic kisses (with tongues). 

Arthur, sitting and chewing his nails to the quick, is beginning to suspect that he’s feeling nervous, though, never having felt nervous before ever in his entire life, he can’t be sure. He’s negotiated billion pound contracts without breaking a sweat. He’s dined with royalty on many occasions. He’s played baskeball with the President of the United States. He’s even snogged one of the Princes on a dare (no, not  _ that _ one!). But there is nothing either in his pedigree or his training that can prepare him for having a conversation along the lines of “ _ Pardon me, Mr Emrys. Did we snog or was I hallucinating?” _

So Arthur sits and he chews his nails. Nervously. 

A few chairs away there's a young boy banging his plaster on the arm of his chair repeatedly, his father (or guardian? or jailer?) is engrossed on his phone. Rather than finding the action amusing this week, Arthur wants to dislocate the boy’s entire arm and beat him to death with it.

“Mr Pendragon?” A nurse calls, unknowingly saving a young boy’s life. Arthur departs the waiting room quickly, not looking back at the wide-eyed faces of the peasants, sorry,  _ people _ , who, having recognised his name, are eager to get a glimpse at the Heir Apparent.

By the time he's seated in the uncomfortable plastic chair of the consulting room, Arthur has decided to pretend that nothing at all had ever happened between him and Mr Emrys.

Even if it had.

Which it hadn't.

Probably.

“Mr Pendragon!” Merlin Emrys says, entering the room with a broad smile on his face and doing his patented sit and slide on the wheeled stool, stopping inches from where Arthur sits. Arthur does his patented wide-eyed goggle. “I am afraid I have bad news.”

Arthur completely forgets his heavily rehersed awkward question in the face of just how fantastically gorgeous Merlin is looking today in a crisply pressed maroon button down and a deep blue tie. Then his brain catches up with what Merlin has said. “Bad news?” Arthur asks, hating the trepidation he can hear in his voice. Though the upshot of the adjustment procedure on his arm had been half a dozen deep tongue kisses, the thought of feeling that pain again is not a welcome one.

“I’m afraid we don’t need to make any further adjustments to your pins.” Merlin says, nodding at Arthur solemnly. 

“Wait,” Arthur says, confused, “I thought you said it was bad news.”

“It is, for me.” Merlin says, smiling a smile that goes straight to Arthur’s groin, and then he lowers a wink. Before Arthur has a chance to collect himself or respond Merlin is busying himself with checking the plaster and Arthur’s attention is completely captured once again by his long, shapely fingers. “We’ll arrange one more x-ray check to see if further adjustments are ncecessary before the operation to take the pins out. After that, you should be back on the football pitch in a few weeks. The secretary at front desk will make the arrangements.”

“OK.” Arthur says, wittily. 

“I’m afraid I have to run, I’ve an emergency case waiting in theatre.” And with that Mr Emrys leaves the room, smiling another smile at Arthur, this one only slightly less lascivious. 

As Arthur stares at the closed door he considers that, regardless of how nervous he might be the next time he meets Mr Emrys, his contribution to future conversations can’t, at least, be worse that that.

*

Before his third and final appointment Arthur spends an inordinate amount of time practicing  _ not being nervous _ . He knows it is utterly ridiculous, as past experience has taught him that he is incapable of forming even disjointed sentences in the presence of his Consultant, but he practices in any case. 

The waiting room is practically deserted this time, and Arthur paces back and forth chewing on his fingernails and going over and over the plan he has formulated in his head. 

He will greet Mr Emrys and then he will invite him to the charity football match his father’s company is hosting in two weeks. Easy.

By the time Arthur is seated in the consultation room once again he has talked himself out of opening his mouth at all. Let this Emrys character come to him if he’s interested. Yes. Arthur will not invite him to anything at all. 

“Mr Pendragon.” An unfamiliar voice calls, opening the door and rushing in to sit on the chair beside Arthur who lets out a pent-up breath: it isn't Mr Emrys - it's a boy who looks young enough to be in primary school. Arthur squints at his badge, sure it can't really read  _ Doctor _ , but it does.

“Where's Mr Emrys?” Arthur asks, cradling his arm away from this imposter, determined that, whatever should happen, this  _ child _ isn't going to get anywhere near him.

“Taken up by an emergency theatre case I’m afraid. Small girl with a broken hip - trampoline accident, looks like. Not to worry, though, Mr Pendragon, I’m perfectly capable.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. His plans for the day, no matter how unfocused, had not involved someone young enough to still have training wheels on his bicycle.

“According to the x-rays we are ready to remove the adjustment pins. Now, this procedure is usually performed under local anaesthetics, but due to your reaction to the first adjustment Mr Emrys recommends a general anaesthetic.”

“Mr Emrys has recommended what, now?” Arthur says, feeling his cheeks flare in embarassment. The junior doctor ignores him, continuing on with his instructions. 

“If you speak to the girls at the desk up front they will schedule you in for a theatre appointment and Mr Emrys will remove the adjustment pins. The rods and plates will remain, just to lend a bit of support to the fractured area. One more week, and you’ll be free.”

Arthur thinks back to that first, heated appointment with Merlin Emrys and decides that he  _ really _ should have gone for a punch instead.

*

When Arthur wakes up from the anaesthetic he's in a brightly lit room, lying on a too comfortable bed and surrounded by nurses and doctors smiling down at him.

His groggy, slow, confused eyes do their best to seek out Mr Emrys and eventually they succeed. Merlin is wearing scrubs and his hair is pulled back and covered with a flimsy paper hat, but he's still extremely good looking. Arthur hears himself answering a nurse's questions, but he has locked eyes with his Consultant and everything else in the universe falls by the wayside. 

“The fifth.” Arthur says, not answering a question. Merlin’s eyes narrow and all the hands tending Arthur still. “The next match, it's the fifth.” 

The skin around Merlin's eyes crinkles as he smiles and nods. Arthur finally looks away from him, concentrating instead on the nurse standing next to him who obviously is worried that Arthur had lost his mind.

*

“Who is this guy again?” Gwaine asks, tying his laces.

“Orthopaedic surgeon.” Arthur replies, turning his wrist experimentally. He's sitting the match out, for obvious reasons, but being here in this environment with his so very recently healed arm unprotected feels risky anyway. 

“From Albion Central?” Gwaine asks, incredulous. 

“Yes, and don't you dare use the word ‘pesant’.” Arthur says, catching Gwaine with a warning look. Gwaine retreats to the pitch, both hands raised in surrender, a teasing laugh escaping his lips. Arthur watches him go, shaking his head. Inviting Merlin had been a terrible, terrible idea.

Hopefully he won't even come. Hopefully he'll be tied up with another emergency case. Arthur considers breaking someone's leg and shipping them off to A & E so he knows there's no chance Merlin will show up. He's scanning the pitch deciding on the most likely candidate (Jamie from procurement, obviously - he's a tosser), when he hears Merlin's voice from behind him. 

“Do I get the grand tour, then?” Something inside Arthur twinges pleasantly as he turns to smile at Merlin.

“I thought you might not come.” Arthur admits, far too truthfully.

“And miss a chance to meet Albion United players? You're kidding, right? I've followed them since I was wee.” Merlin says, his eyes on the pitch following the warm up. Arthur's heart sinks. Of course that was the reason Merlin had come. Arthur had grown so used to people wanting to meet  _ him _ that he's forgotten what normal folk are like. He says nothing in response, so Merlin speaks again, “ _ Do _ I get a grand tour?”

“Sure,” Arthur says, now wanting to get this whole day over with as soon as possible, “but we might miss the start of the match.”

Merlin shrugs at him, his eyes alight with eagerness. Arthur leads him through the tunnel and into the Away Changing Rooms, passing a few of his colleagues and wishing them luck. Merlin's face retains the excited glow as Arthur leads him through the now empty changing rooms. Above them he can hear the start of the match and people cheering.

“How's your wrist, then?“ Merlin asks, his back to Arthur, runnung his hands over the polished cherry wood of a cupboard door. Arthur is momentarily distracted by Merlin's hands which are just as enticing as ever. He can feel his pulse quicken. 

“Brilliant.” Arthur manages, once again proving his elevated conversation skills, “100%.”

“That's good to hear.” Merlin laughs, his attention still diverted as he pokes his head around the corner to the empty shower room. “You'll be pleased not to have to come back to hospital, I imagine.”

“I suppose so.” Arthur says, watching Merlin lean down a bit to look at the intricately tiled floor in the loos.

“Do you plan on breaking any other bones?” Merlin asks, finally looking at Arthur. There's a curious tilt to his head and a mischievous half smile on his beautiful face. 

“No.” Arthur says, then, suddenly overcome with a desire to wound, he says, “I'd probably go private in future anyway, if I'm honest. No offence but, state hospitals really aren't my scene.”

Merlin lets out a gently rolling laugh that goes straight through Arthur. “I agree. Go private next time. Best idea you've had. In fact, I can give you some names.”

Merlin’s refusal to be angry or disappointed makes Arthur instantly angry and disappointed. “Really? Was I that terrible of a patient?”

“Yes. Worst ever. In fact,” and here Merlin pauses so long that Arthur looks at him - and finds Merlin looking back with fire in his eyes, “I would be quite pleased if I wasn't ever your doctor again.”

Arthur’s breath catches as Merlin takes a purposeful step towards him. 

“No offence but, there's a whole patient/doctor thing I'd rather not fuck around with. I wouldn't want to lose my job, see?”

Arthur swallows, the memory of their first meeting crashing over him. Merlin is still striding towards him, eyes locked with his. 

“But, I'm not your patient any more.” Arthur says, witty as usual. 

“No, you're not. In fact, I've made a note in your chart recommending one of my colleagues should you ever decide to return to our care. You were, after all, a dangerously high risk patient, and I can't handle the stress.”

Merlin stops inches from Arthur, who has backed away until he can't step back any further, the solid cherry wood of the Away Changing lockers digging into his back. Neither of them speak for a few minutes as their eyes devour each other.

“Seems reasonable.” Arthur finally manages, breathless. His whole body fizzles with adrenaline. “You were a shit doctor anyway.”

Merlin's head arches back slightly as a hearty laugh escapes him. Arthur, deciding now is the time to be bold, steps into Merlin and brings their mouths together, hard. Merlin isn't surprised this time and there is no hesitation as he kisses Arthur back, lips parted and hands gripping the side of Arthur's face. 

Arthur, figuring he might as well just go for it, takes one of Merlin's hands and sucks a finger into his mouth, relishing the feel of it’s slender, strong length against his lips and teeth. Merlin's breath catches and he lets out a long, low moan.

Above them the noises of the match trickle down into the deserted changing rooms and Arthur feels a thrill at the thought that there's at least thirty minutes until halftime. 

*

Bonus Section: Four Months Later.

Everyone is crowded around Merlin, but Arthur pushes through to his side easily. Merlin looks pale and shaky, but he's smiling. His arm is obviously broken, forming an uneven shape where it is cradled against his chest. Arthur tries not to laugh, but he can't help himself. Merlin turns a glare on him. 

“Percy you've really got to start watching where you're going.” Arthur says, clapping his hand onto Percy’s shoulder. Percy at least looks very sorry to have broken yet another teammate’s arm. Arthur smiles mischievously at Merlin. “If I were you I'd go private, mate. The doctors at the state hospital are proper shite.”

**Author's Note:**

> As ever thank you to the incomparable FeythInWords for reading it first. Love you like I love the stars in the sky.


End file.
